


Please Just Get Your Shit Together Already

by lichcraft



Category: Forgotten Realms
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Character Study, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Past Jarlaxle Baenre/Zaknafein Do’Urden, Sort Of, honestly I just need more content for them so I guess I’ve gotta do it myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25985296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lichcraft/pseuds/lichcraft
Summary: What will hopefully become a collection of oneshots surrounding Jarlaxle and Entreri’s relationship, as well as potential character studies for each of them.
Relationships: Jarlaxle Baenre/Artemis Entreri
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Local Drow Thinks Friend is Dense but is Just as Dense Himself

**Author's Note:**

> And so it begins...
> 
> Jarlaxle has a confusing dream that leaves him too deep in thought for comfort.

_ A tongue traced the point of Jarlaxle’s ear and he groaned low, tilting his head towards it. A strong body had him pressed flush to the mattress, stronger hands pinning his wrists above his head. Jarlaxle was beyond struggling now, simply reduced to writhing under the other’s ministrations. Teeth replaced tongue, nipping at his earlobe, and a moan was dragged from his lips. _

_ “Artemis,” he panted, canting his hips up, again and again. He could feel the assassins smirk against his throat, felt him transfer both of Jarlaxle’s wrists to one hand, and he reached down... _

_ Only to thrust his dagger deep into his chest, twisting further and further up, until it pierced his heart- _

The room was still dark when Jarlaxle awoke. Drow didn’t need to sleep, but Jarlaxle had taken to it, on the nights he could afford to. Stiffly, and silently, he pushed himself onto his elbows, frowning at the lump of blankets across the room. Entreri was nowhere to be seen.

The drow sighed, and ran a hand over his smooth head. His fingers met resistance as they hit the eyepatch. He’d fallen asleep in it. He sighed again, and resigned himself to getting up. Piece by piece, he adorned his armor: each ring and necklace scrutinized and assessed from every angle, his usual revealing vest being replaced with a slightly warmer, but still revealing, satin shirt of a jewel toned green, his eyepatch straightened and his hat placed perfectly upon his head. The entire process was meditative. It was comforting.

And he did not, even for a second, think of Artemis Entreri.

Jarlaxle certainly did not think of the assassins dexterous fingers, the way he wielded any number of weapons with practiced ease, of the peacefulness that could only cross his face in sleep. He didn’t think of the cutting banter they shared, or the rare but life changing kindness Entreri has bestowed upon the less fortunate, or his silent laughter. And he definitely did not think of striking grey eyes.

And as Jarlaxle went about his morning, his thoughts were equally as drawn to the opposite: those practiced fingers, plunging a dagger into him as an echo of his dream that  did not happen , the fact that Entreri slept with the aforementioned dagger under his pillow and was always a moment away from consciousness, how his banter all too quickly turned to insults, and worse, his eyes. His beautiful, cruel eyes, which with a single glare could cut deeper than any blade. They almost reminded him of-

Jarlaxle shook his head, and finally stepped outside of the little inn for some fresh, cool air. He could see his abbil down the street, bartering over some supplies or other with a street vendor. As much as Jarlaxle wanted to go to his side, bother him as he often did, his thoughts were still lingering on his dream, and on ghosts long passed. So he turned on his heel, and began to walk in the opposite direction.

What  did  his dream mean? Of course, the first part was  very  welcome, and he’s made some rather less subtle hints towards the assassin as of late, though Entreri was proving to be more dense than he thought. But the last bit... surely he wouldn’t betray him at this point? Surely not like that?

_ Though he is very practiced in such arts,  _ the drow inside him hissed.  _ He would kill you at a moment’s notice, as soon as you become dead weight to him. Best to cut ties now. _

_ Yes,  _ another, smaller voice in him whispered.  _ You’re already too attached. It will, inevitably, end just like with Zak. _

Jarlaxle’s eyes closed briefly at the thought he’d been avoiding. The two were far too much alike. Some days, it felt as though Zaknafein were still alive, though when he would turn to greet his old friend, his eyes would meet grey instead of red, the words would die on his tongue, and an age-old grief would bubble up inside.

Jarlaxle’s eyes caught a glimpse of gold nearby: a street vendor, selling jewelry. All fake, upon closer inspection, but pretty nonetheless. Jarlaxle bought himself a new bracelet, and let his more disquieting thoughts slip away as he walked back to where Artemis was surely waiting, allowing himself to be the Jarlaxle that the world sees once again. 


	2. Am I Reading Too Much Between the Lines or Are You Actually Capable of Being Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Artemis Entreri is just being a person and Jarlaxle makes assumptions.

_You know, I’m beginning to think he actually likes me!_

Jarlaxle, under normal circumstances, would’ve likely not thought anything of it. Had this been any other person, he would’ve easily been able to accept it for what it all was. But this was Artemis Entreri, and Jarlaxle was nothing if not an optimist. 

It began, or at least he thinks it began, with their banter. The assassin was slowly beginning to soften around the edges, his usual barbs still hitting the mark but far less painfully. Then, Entreri would buy him things. Rarely ever anything frivolous, as he was far more frugal than Jarlaxle, but the drow often found his meals and lodging already paid for without his knowledge, and there was even once that Entreri bought him a new ring (at no small expense) simply because he wanted it. Or, in the assassin’s own words, to “wipe that pathetic look off his face.” And more recently, he has allowed Jarlaxle to interfere with his personal space more than once, hardly glaring when he does. Jarlaxle can now count multiple times that he was allowed to sit closer to Entreri, steal his food, throw his arm around him, and generally push the boundaries of “casual touching” further and further past the line.

But all the progress they’ve made _pales_ in comparison to Artemis’s face the last time Jarlaxle got injured.

It was no small wound. They’d been on the road, ambushed and heavily outnumbered, and one of the bandits managed to sneak past Jarlaxle’s defenses. It was a very lucky hit, and might’ve been fatal, had Jarlaxle been any less resourceful. Of course, the healing potion Entreri shoved down his throat the moment the fighting ceased was likely to thank for most of it. But it was the look in his eyes, as Jarlaxle was laying in the dirt, that really pierced him. He was actually worried. On anyone else, Jarlaxle would’ve said he looked downright _scared._

But this being Artemis Entreri, it was nothing of the sort. And when Jarlaxle even tried to bring it up later as a joke (because of course) Entreri merely deflected with, “I was only concerned with how much of your stuff I could fit in my pack.”

He’d made an innuendo at that, laughed it off, and forgot about it. At least he had, until that night, and when the traitorous parts of him began to whisper in the silence, when unwanted memories began to return, his mind chose to focus on that moment to drive it all away. Because he recognized it, and all of his _abbil’s_ other new habits, as being _something_. It had meaning, it had purpose beyond whatever excuses Artemis made, beyond whatever excuses Jarlaxle almost wanted to believe. He was making progress.

From then on, he rested peacefully, with the beginnings of a hypothesis keeping the dark at bay.

***

They reached the next town two days after Jarlaxle’s injury. It was rather quaint, Jarlaxle thought, with a peaceful atmosphere brought by the sounds of ocean waves and seagulls, and the ever-bright sun shining favorably down. A little colder than he preferred, but he’d already begun making plans to explore what treasures it may have to offer. 

“Do you think it’s too cold to go swimming, _abbil?"_

After a beat of silence, he turned to speak to his companion again, only to find empty air. “ _Abbil?”_

“If you’re done standing there, Jarlaxle, we ought to get a room.”

Jarlaxle turned once more to find Entreri standing quite a few feet away. He was lucky the man hadn’t just kept walking, as he sometimes did. Jarlaxle’s smile only grew.

“Get a room? I didn’t know you felt that way _abbil_ , you ought to have spoken up sooner!”

Entreri didn’t even bother to glare at that; he merely resumed walking. Slow enough for Jarlaxle to catch up with ease, the drow noted. He tried for conversation again.

“How cold do you think the water is?”

Entreri spared him a glance, then looked out to the ocean. He said, “Not cold enough to freeze yet, though it’s still not worth jumping into.” Jarlaxle grinned.

“Perhaps not for you, _abbil_ , but I certainly intend to test that myself. You could still join me! Your perpetually grumpy face will likely scare away all the birds. I hear they like to steal people’s food.”

“The only reason I would join you is to laugh when you inevitably swallow seawater. And perhaps if I’m lucky, the birds will make off with your hat instead.”

Jarlaxle gasped and dramatically clutched at the brim of the hat in question. “My hat doesn’t even look like food!”

As they approached the first decent looking inn they’d yet seen, Entreri looked back at Jarlaxle’s hat. Smirking, he turned back towards the building, and said, “No, but they may see that feather and mistake it for one of their own. They’re vengeful little beasts.”

“I imagine you must feel a kinship with them, then,” Jarlaxle said haughtily, and eyed the nearest seagull skeptically before following the assassin inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW okay it's been 4 months already... oops? Anyways my one of my favorite tropes is "person who's really good at reading people except they second guess EVERYTHING when it comes to one specific person" and I feel like Entreri is 100% dodgy and closed off enough that Jarlaxle *thinks* he has the right idea but can never be totally sure.
> 
> Hey I wrote dialogue!! I hate writing dialogue but I made myself because the last chapter didn't have any. I was also going for something a little more lighthearted to keep it balanced. I really wanted to write more with this chapter but also... it's 3am and I've been going at this for like 2 hours sooo-
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments and the support, I literally don't think I would've found the motivation to write this chapter tonight if I hadn't read them. Feel free to give me more feedback/constructive criticism!!
> 
> Stay tuned for the eventual arrival of the next chapter, "How to No-Homo Your Way Out of a Friendship"

**Author's Note:**

> All I hope is that I’m doing the characters justice, feel free to let me know how I did!! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
